


Coin Laundry

by Sheena_Stalwart



Category: Actor RPF, Hollander - Fandom, tom holland - Fandom
Genre: Actor Tom Holland, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Tension, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Laundry, RPF, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Romance, tom holland - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheena_Stalwart/pseuds/Sheena_Stalwart
Summary: Little meet-cute at a laundromat in a world where Tom Holland didn't quite make it in Hollywood. Felt cute. Might update later.
Relationships: Reader/Tom Holland, Tom Holland (Actor)/You, Tom Holland/Original Character
Kudos: 23





	Coin Laundry

It’s five minutes past midnight, as you drag yourself over the threshold of the laundromat. Heavy trash bags full of dirty clothes knock into your legs with every step. It’s been a while since you’ve done your laundry but you can’t put it off any longer. You are wearing your last clean pair of underwear- the one with the holes in it and the stretched out elastic that sits in the back of the drawer- the one waiting for the day that you can’t skim past it anymore because there is no other option left. It’s been a long day and the last thing you wanted to do was laundry past midnight, but alas, here you are.   
The place is empty. The only perk of doing laundry at the witching hour is the privacy to be a bum and the silence which accompanies it. Fluorescent lights hum and the one over the vending machine flickers just enough to be annoying. You dump one trash bag full of clothes into the first empty washer. The waistband of your sweatpants is slowly sliding down from the weight of the ziplock bag full of quarters in your pocket. You fish out $2.25- Jeez why does laundry have to be so expensive? At least it's better than the laundromat down the street where the price is $3.00 per load. You pour the liquid soap straight into the tub, on top of your clothes and punch the quarters through the slot. You close the lid and press “Start” but nothing happens. You shake the machine, fiddle with the lid, press every other button and- nothing.   
Of course this would happen. Sighing heavily you open the lid and start transferring your soapy, dirty laundry into the next washer. This one works. Thank goodness. You repeat the process with the other two trash bags full of clothes. You put on your headphones. The Bends album by Radiohead sounds perfect for this monotonous and dreary occasion. You settle behind a card table, hunkering down in a metal chair with a ripped plastic cushion. You open your book, The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus. Could you be a little more emo? Oh, yes! You could! And on that note you flick up the hood of your jacket.   
Above the book, in the blur of your periphery, you see the sliding door of the laundromat open. Oh, fuck. Another human. And here you thought you could be the lonely cockroach-human from Metamorphosis. You glance up quickly to get a read of this other poor, unfortunate soul doing laundry past midnight on a Friday.   
Oh, fuck. He’s hot. Deliriously and devilishly handsome. You try your best not to groan audibly because you don’t want him to notice you. You look like a strung-out, homeless junkie- complete with sweats and dark circles under your eyes.   
This stud looks like he just finished a late-night workout session. His grey muscle tank top has rorschach splotches of sweat and his brown curls are still slicked to the back of his neck. His headphones are slung around his neck and he begins to load the first washer.   
“Wait!” you say before you even fully form the thought. You slip the headphones from your ears. He turns your way, eyes widened by the sound of alarm in your voice. “That washer’s out of order- I already tried it.”  
“Oh, thanks,” he says with a nod.   
He’s got an accent. Intriguing. You try not to stare, but you’re curious. Who is he? What’s his story? Why is he an adonis? You know, the basics.   
He turns your direction again and you quickly flit your eyes back down to your book.   
“Uni?” he asks.   
“What?” you say with an awkward croak.   
He points to the book in your hands as he throws a t-shirt into the basin of a washer.   
“Oh! Uh- No, actually! It’s just for fun…” your voice trails off.   
“Fun?” his eyebrows furrowed as he casts a goofy face of disbelief.   
“I’m not a pretentious asshole, I swear! It’s actually a really quick read if you give it a chance!” you say desperately trying to make yourself seem likeable and cute.   
“Read?” he laughs and shakes his head slowly, “Darling, I can’t read,” he says cooly.   
“What?!” you pause for a moment because you aren’t quite sure if he’s joking or not. “...Are you serious?” you ask because he takes too long to answer.   
“No!... Well, kind of,” he chuckles. “I’m just dyslexic. I know how to read. I’m just shit at it.”  
“Oh- okay,” you giggle awkwardly. You fucking hate chummy small-talk. You were never good at it and you’re really paying for it now. “Uhhh… your accent? Where are you from?”  
He slams the washer door shut and spins around dramatically, “Do you work for the ICE?”   
You laugh, “No! Of course not!”  
“Phew!” he says facetiously. “Well, in that case- I’m from Southwest London, darling.”  
“What brought you to the States? Are you traveling?”  
He sighs and starts to load another wash, “No, I live here now. I came here for LA.”  
“Why LA?”  
“Same reason as everyone else- I wanted to be a big Hollywood actor,” there is a pang in his voice and he suddenly seems really interested in the gym socks he’s holding.   
“Wanted? As in- not anymore?”   
“It didn’t really work out,” he sighs. “I came here with my best mate. Now he’s a model and I’m…” he pitches the socks into the washer, “A carpenter.”   
You nod solemnly. He seems a bit upset at the memory. You try to lighten the mood, “A carpenter?! Well, that’s a very noble profession! -uh- I mean you’re in great company- Jesus was a carpenter!” What the fuck? Why do you ever even open your mouth. You are an embarrassment to all mankind.   
But. He laughs, “That’s true! I never thought of it that way… Now, what brings you here so late? And on a Friday night?”  
Well, let’s see- procrastination to start. Poor time-management skills. Lack of a social life. No romantic prospects. And a genuine lack of underwear. “Uh, you know, I just got busy and this was the only time I could fit in a load…” but that sounded weird so you quickly add, “of- laundry!” This is why you have trouble meeting guys. Your foot is forever flailing in your esophagus. You recover, “What brings you here so late?”  
He shrugs, “Uh, procrastination, poor time-management skills, lack of a social life, and to be honest- I’m wearing my last clean pair of boxers.”  
Your jaw is on the floor and you nearly shout “SAME!” but you don’t want to be weird. So, you just laugh instead.   
That’s when you notice that your wash loads have finished and it’s time to put them in the dryer.


End file.
